Getting Away

Posted on: June 12th, 2014

The first time I was 21, my roommate had brought him home on a night out. When she rejected him, he came in to my room and asked if he could sleep there. I did say no, more than once, but when he kept on touching me, something in me just closed down and I let him. His touch was painful, but by then it was like a scene I was seeing from the outside.

I didn’t think of it as rape. It wasn’t until 6 years later when I talked about it for the first time, that I realized what had happened. It wasn’t till then that I remembered the pain and my head hitting the wall and the bleeding. Until then, I shoved it away. I didn’t cry until then. Most of my tears were tears of shame, why hadn’t I done something to get away, my roommate was sleeping right next door, she would have heard me if I called out! Why had I been so helpless? Rationally I knew that I had said no, and that the fact that he hadn’t respected that made it wrong on his part, but the nagging guilt is hard keep out.

The second time I was 27, I had just moved to another country but was home for a concert with friends – afterwards we went out, the night was great, I was happy and drunk. I didn’t want to go home when the my sleeping arrangement was ready leave. When it got late I found myself kissing a seemingly nice guy. The last of my friends who was still there had her own thing going on. I was tired, and when the guy asked – I told him that I would sleep at his place, but that there would be no sex. I said that he needed to be ok with this if I were to go home with him. He said it was ok.

I went to sleep in my clothes and woke up shortly after with his hand in my pants. I told him no, and that I was leaving. As I was getting up he grabbed me and threw me on a coffee table, he held me down and tried to take of my my underwear for what seemed like hours as I tried to reason with him. In my head was one thought – I would rather die! There is no way I’m living with the guilt of not fighting him.

Somehow I got away, I still don’t know how. I ran and tried to call a friend, when she didn’t pick up I called my mom (I had forgotten that she was at work) and got on a taxi to my parents apartment where my dad was waiting. I wish I had gotten the information on the cab driver who supplied me with kleenex and water, and insisted on parking illegally so that he could see me to the door.

I was lucky – not only did I get away, but afterwards I got nothing but support – even the two police officers who handled my case were supportive and amazing, for months calling to check up on me. My case didn’t make it to court – there was no evidence after all, which was the reason I initially refused my dad when he wanted me to report it. But I am glad I did. Reporting it made it real and something that I could talk about. It took away the guilt. All of the guilt – even the guilt after my first attack.

I was lucky – most who report attacks like that don’t get the treatment I did. I feel lucky, but it is still something I live with and it continually affects my life.

1 comment

Thank you for sharing this. I was silent during my late teens and early 20s, stuck in cycle of sexually abusive partners. I look back now and wonder, why did I let this happen. I feel so stupid. At 29 after therapy, I’m in my first positive and mutually supportive relationship. I feel lucky too. Its amazing how you had the strength the second time around to fight and how you supported yourself in your head during the incident to fight back. It’s just brilliant.

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